


fate

by tenuis



Category: The X-Files
Genre: AU, Angst, But Not Much, F/M, Fluff, Historical AU, Romance, Smut, i dont like to make them suffer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:26:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26077171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenuis/pseuds/tenuis
Summary: 6 of the infinitely many lifetimes where they were meant to find one another.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 13
Kudos: 38





	1. 50,000 BCE

**Author's Note:**

> [asimov](https://templatetraining.princeton.edu/sites/training/files/the_last_question_-_issac_asimov.pdf), of all authors, inspired me to write this silly thing. i have the whole story planned out and will be posting two chapters at a time. it might take me a little while but i will finish it ;D
> 
> any historical or grammatical blunders are my fault; the research i've done is superficial at best. feel free to correct me in the comments.

She cannot feel her legs anymore. She has no idea for long she has been walking, neither does she know where she is going. She had been trailing behind her parents and siblings but, being the tiniest, all it took was one misstep and her legs gave out, sending her deep into the snow. They probably had not even heard her fall; when she managed to lift herself up, out of breath with tears in her eyes, there was no one left in sight.

She had been traveling with her family for days, in search of food and shelter. To her mother, father and older brother fell the task of hunting, because they were the oldest and strongest. Once game became scarce where they lived, it was them who decided to move in the direction of the mountains, assuring the youngest that there would be warm caves and small animals aplenty for them to enjoy.

But for the longest time, all they had to eat were frozen berries and nuts. Day and night, through wind and rain they walked, seeking refuge huddled under thick trees that did nothing to stave off the sharp bite of the cold. And when the snow began to fall and they still had found no warm cave to sleep in, she wondered sadly if it was death this feeling she felt approaching.

Her teeth chatter violently, thick shards of snow whipping her fair skin like needles. She is certain that her family will not come back to look for her; the knowledge makes her sad, but she understands. This might be it for her, but her family will be alive and together—and even though she has never felt colder in her life, the thought of her loved ones reaching safety spreads warmth through her chest.

Her whole body is covered in the thick cat furs her sister had sewn for her. Her legs are knee deep in the snow, though, and every step becomes harder through the numbness in her limbs and the harsh winds pushing her weight around. Her long braided hair trails behind her, heavy with moisture, pulling sharply at her head and making her dizzy. Anguish begins to run through her body, pushing tortured, wordless cries through her frigid throat. The night is dark without fire to illuminate the way; no matter how wide she opens her eyes, the absolute blackness is blinding. She can barely see the ground beneath her.

With the last of her strength, she looks up, like she remembers watching her parents always do—desperately searching for directions in the twinkling sky, but unable to tell one milky dot from the other.

She collapses, her whole body burying itself under the snow, her braid streaming like blood atop the white mass, the only hint of her presence.

The last things she registers before she passes out are fast, heavy footsteps, and strong arms dragging her by the armpits.

-x-

She awakens slowly, calmed by the warmth of a fire roaring right next to her. She is covered with blankets, and is relieved to notice the feeling in her legs returning to normal under her dry clothes. She looks around and finds herself inside a cave, the wonderful smell of melted fat reaching her nose and making her stomach grumble with a passion. She wonders briefly if her family really came back to save her after all.

She turns her head and follows with her eyes the long path of her braid laid out on the ground, to find at the end of it a large man toying with the tips of her hair.

She shrieks at the sight and scurries to press her back to the wall behind her, frightened beyond belief. She has not seen many people in her life beyond her own kin, and after her parents urged their group to strike out on their own, the only men she got used to seeing day in and day out were her father and brothers.

The man flies back with a shout of surprise, seemingly just as frightened. He gets as far away from her as he is able, eyes wild and searching her face. He starts shaking his head frantically.

“Do not be afraid,” he says, or some equivalent to those words. With one hand on his chest and the other gesturing around the cave, he pants, “I am your friend. Fire. Food. Keep you warm. I will not hurt you.”

Somewhere in her mind, she wonders if she should be surprised that she understands him. She looks at the man skeptically, but her gaze is immediately attracted to the deer leg roasting over the fire. Her insides twist in hunger.

“You are hungry.” She nods, holding the blankets tight to her chest. He slowly lifts himself up, so as to not startle her again, and goes over to the fire. With a sharp knife made of flint, he carves out a large portion of the leg, and extends it to her. “Eat.”

She snatches it from his hands and curls back into the wall, eyeing him with suspicion between hearty bites. The meat tastes rich and delicious, melting over her tongue, juices and saliva running down her chin; before long, she is closing her eyes in pure bliss, burrowing herself deeper into the covers. The man cuts a smaller piece of the leg for himself before going back to the opposite wall and sitting down, observing her intently.

She eats and eats; when she is done he asks her if she wants more, and before she even starts nodding he is already cutting another chunk of savory meat for her to devour. She calms down under his watchful gaze, comforted by the quiet and the distance he has put between their bodies. From the cautionary tales her family had told her, she had not imagined that strange men could ever behave this way in the presence of a woman. This one is friendly and tender. She likes him.

“How did you find me?” she asks quietly.

“I heard screams outside. When I looked in the distance, I saw your hair, coming out of the snow.” His bushy face is very serious as he says this. He looks scared. “You were dying. You looked very sick. You slept for a long time. I was worried you would not live.”

She sucks the last of the fat from her fingers and grabs her braid possessively, fiddling with it a bit. “Thank you for taking care of me. I got lost from my family and could not find my way back to them. I was scared and hungry. I am grateful that you found me in time.”

Behind his dark beard, she sees him smile. “I am happy that you feel better. Eat more if you want.” He slides the knife across to her, but she shakes her head.

“I have had enough. Feel good now. Thank you, friend.” She smiles back.

Silence falls between them, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the winds outside.

The man tilts his head. His eyes keep flicking from her hair to her face. “I am curious. Where do you come from?”

She pauses, not knowing how to answer. Instinctively, she reaches a finger to point the direction she had been walking from, but has no idea where that would be.

The man smiles again. “Had you been traveling with your family for long?”

“No,” she answers. “A few days. But it seemed like forever. I did not think I would survive.”

“You are very strong to have survived for as long as you did.”

She nods silently, looking down at her hands. Her head hurts, so she starts undoing her braid to seek some relief. She is reminded of her brothers, who always wanted to untangle her curly mane and play with it whenever the sun was out, warming the ponds they would bathe themselves in.

“I have never seen hair like yours before,” he tells her softly, wonder in his voice like a child gazing up at the night sky. When she looks at him, he is staring at her fingers intricately weaving apart the long locks.

“My mother taught me how to braid. Had you never seen braids before?” She asks, confused.

“No, I mean the color.” He crawls up to her tentatively, checking for any signs that she might not welcome his forwardness. Not seeing any, he sits next to her and reaches out to touch the curly tips like he had been doing earlier. He holds a handful of her hair up in front of them, comparing it to the tall flames warming up the cave. “The color of fire.”

She feels instant heat spreading across her face at his words. “The only one in my family with hair different from mine is my mother. She has dark hair, like you.”

The man turns his eyes to hers. Warmed by the firelight, they look exactly the color of leaves under the sunshine. “Where were you and your family headed?”

“Towards the mountains. My parents said there would be shelter and many animals to feast on. I had two brothers and a sister. I hope they get there safely.” She feels a deep pang of loss in her belly. She suddenly misses them so much.

For long moments, they are both quiet. The man’s fascination with her hair is seemingly endless, and she watches his big hands picking apart the strands, coiling them around his fingers, shifting them so they glimmer against the light. His movements are so slow, so gentle.

“The same thing happened to me.” She turns to watch his face with watery eyes. “I was younger than I am now. Could not grow a beard yet.” He smiles mournfully. “I had a younger sister. She had curly hair, like you.” He tugs lightly at the tresses in his hand. Then turns behind them and points at the wall. She can see four beautiful figures drawn with precision on the rock; two tall ones and two small ones. Two men and two women. Around them, the shining sun, lush trees and furry animals, etched with care and all manners of swirly colors.

“I used to live beyond the mountains with a few other families. When the cold came, there was no more fruit or animals to hunt, and we became hungry and weak. Our parents told us that if we were to travel to the other side, food would be plentiful and the sun would be warm again.” She recognized the same speech coming out of her parents’ mouths. She wondered if they actually knew what they were saying.

“My sister and I, we could not help them hunt much, we were not strong enough. Our mother fell ill one day and died. My father then taught me how to navigate by looking at the stars, how to make fire. One night, it was so dark and cold, we could hardly move. He hugged my sister tight to him, but I was so thin and frail, I could not keep up with them. When my legs gave out, I stumbled and fell down a hill. I looked up, and I could see the fire my father was holding, disappearing in the darkness.”

She allows her tears to roll down freely, feeling so much sympathy for her new friend. The man reaches rough fingers to wipe them off her face. “The hill I fell down, was the hill just above this cave. I could not believe my eyes when I saw it. I felt very sad, but very happy also. It was all so confusing to me. I walked inside and waited for the morning to come. I cried all night.” He pauses, smoothing out her soft curls. “When the sun arose the next day, it melted the snow and warmed my face. I felt such a strong will to survive.”

Her heart beats with admiration for this man. She can empathize with his emotions, having had the exact same experience herself; but her will to survive stems from _him_. His care, his intelligence. She smiles at him, feeling warm from the inside out.

“I wonder, friend.” She breathes in deeply, thinking of how to put her feelings into words he could understand. She has the distinct impression that his smart mind would understand her anyway. “Our families had been traveling towards each other. Do you think we were meant to find one another?”

He thinks for a moment, staring deep into her eyes.

“I do not know. But I am glad that we did.”

-x-

They teach each other everything they know. He shows her how to bang flint into fire, and how to control it using rocks. He teaches her how to ambush small game silently; and, with each others’ company, they are able to hunt larger bears and rhinos, earning battle scars and great memories of adventure along the way.

She shows him how to carve needles out of bones, and sew thicker garments to survive the long winters. With great delicacy and care, she sharpens knives as thin as they will go, and shaves off his thick beard in the summers. The first time she sees the mark on his cheek, she pets it with the same fascination he held for her hair the night they first met.

They laugh, they cry, they sing and dance. They sleep together inside their cave, warmed by the fire and the food in their bellies. They tell each other stories; everything they can remember from their previous lives, and some tales they make up on their own. They groom and clean each other, they fix each others’ broken bones. Together, they learn how to love, joining their mouths and hands and bodies, so grateful to not be alone ever again.

Countless seasons later, they find their weathered selves sitting with cool water lapping at their feet, strong nude bodies glistening in the sunlight. Behind her, his fingers comb and twine her clean hair into a flawless thick braid. And though the fire in her curls has been increasingly sprinkled with snowy white as of late, it still burns wildly atop the heads of their children playing in the lake.


	2. memphis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which young Fox loves makeup and women.

As a servant of the great God’s Wife of Amun, one of Fox’s manifold duties—or rather his _only_ one, for as long as he can remember—is fanning her with palm leaves. His shoulders and arms have gotten more exercise from fanning his Mistress than he could ever get by lifting planks of wood or buckets of milk, like all of the other men did.

All day, every day, all he seems to be doing is fanning her with palm leaves. He does not dare to voice his displeasure; for her office is Godlike, Pharaoh-like, and a lot of the time that makes him ashamed to feel this much boredom in serving her. But he does feel it. The grind of it has gotten to a point where he would rather be doing anything else other than fanning her with palm leaves. He would rather scoop out foul-smelling dung from the pastures; he would rather bathe her cats with his own tongue; he would rather spend all day raking the fields with the sun burning on his back, _anything_ else other than _fanning her with palm leaves_.

The great God’s Wife of Amun is at all times accompanied by her female servants, who clean, groom, feed, clothe her and paint her skin. He wonders, sometimes, whether she can do anything on her own. _Shame on you, Fox_ , his mind supplies immediately.

Nearly all the other males work at the kitchens or tending to the animals and plantations. They mock him and beat him bloody, calling him all sorts of names; _emasculated_ seems to be the most popular choice. Ever since he was a child, he so badly wishes he could fit in anywhere, have meaningful friends and conversations. But if that is the way his male comrades treat him, he’d much rather have the company of women.

He doesn’t mind that at all, actually. The Egyptian women are warm and lovely; they make him laugh and they know so much about religion, history, society and current fashion. They taught him how to apply makeup to his skin, so as to shield it from the sun and make his eyes and mouth look bigger. Every morning when he picks up his metal mirror and draws on his face with kohl, he is reminded of all the women he is surrounded by and everything they represent—wisdom, creation, sex.

He was but a child when he emigrated from the kingdom of Israel, so much of the values held by his old compatriots were long lost to him. But he knew that, if his father had anything to say about Egyptian women (had he been alive to do so), none of it would be pleasant. That prudish man would have been wrong, though; fatally so. The wonderful women of Egypt were so liberated, so smart and independent, he often felt like a lesser creature in their glorious presence.

Fox’s humble knowledge of the world came from the sage ladies who had raised him since his arrival in the city of Memphis, where he was instantly thrust into servanthood. They told him that, in most parts of the world, women were not as free-willing as they were in Egypt; women, they said, were usually bound to the household and their husbands, could not own property or sleep with whomever they chose to. All those ideas sounded abhorrent to him, and his earnest sensitivity towards the opposite sex made him more than successful in courting the young ladies that abounded within the temple. Egyptian women—warm and lovely indeed.

It is that knowledge that sparks curiosity in his mind when a new arrival comes into the throne room. A woman with white robes and whiter skin is surrounded by female servants of her own, who carry her luxurious luggage behind her. The woman is lovely, floating gorgeously within the cascading linens she is wearing. Her eyes are the color of a cloudless sky, and her hair is Red. Redder than the ochre painted on his lips, redder than rage, redder than blood.

A servant introduces her: “This is the Mistress Dana of Athens, o God’s Wife, seeking refuge in the welcoming heat of Memphis and in the safety of your home.” The servant bows and leaves the room.

“Hello, beautiful Dana of Athens. I am honored to have you in our temple. From what, may I ask, do you seek refuge from?”

“Hello, great God’s Wife of Amun.” Mistress Dana speaks perfect Egyptian, and he quickly waves his fan in order to hide his gasp of surprise. He knew she was wealthy the moment she walked in the room, but now he knew she was educated as well. She bows gracefully before speaking. “I seek refuge not from what, but from whom. My husband unfairly accuses me of adultery. I did not commit such a crime, but he will not see reason, and has ordered for my death. I had to flee my hometown of Athens in a hurry and with much sadness; but I knew that such a powerful woman like yourself would have the kindness in her soul to relieve me of this evil accusation.”

Fox feels his chest swell and his jaw set with injustice. Perhaps the flapping of his fan turned a bit too violent in his reverie, because next thing he knew, Mistress Dana was staring right into his eyes, making his face burn and sweat drench his forehead. He wonders for a panicked second if the Egyptian law would allow for a servant to fan _him_ with palm leaves.

Her lips quirk into an amused smile before she turns back to listen to the God’s Wife. “I have much sympathy for the women of the world who are treated so unkindly by their male companions. Egypt is a fair and receptive country; any person in need would be most welcome into the arms of our handsome nation.” At that, Fox raises an eyebrow, reminded of all the trouble that receptiveness had caused him in his life. Flicking her azure eyes at him, Dana raises an eyebrow right back.

Fox is sure he will never need to apply rouge another day in his life from all the heat he feels pooling in his cheeks. He casts his eyes down, scared that something bad could happen to him for his brazenness.

“With all the love and gratitude in my heart, I thank you, great God’s Wife.” Mistress Dana bows once more.

“I shall have a servant send you to your rooms shortly.” Fox can see Dana’s head turn to him, so intense is her gaze. He is nervous out of his mind, and when he lifts his eyes to look at her, she is already gone. He realizes he had been holding the fan steady for he didn’t even know how long. _Shame on you, Fox_ , he chastises himself, waving that palm leaf like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

-x-

The next few days are no different than the days before. He goes through a palm tree’s worth of leaves, he cleanses his body in the common bathhouse, he flees from the bullies out in the farms. The only difference is in the presence of the foreign servants who walk around the temple in white linens. He finds himself craning his neck a bit after them, looking for a particular mane of red hair.

He goes to the markets to purchase some grease and new colorful shades of tinted powder—an indulgence he allows himself in the name of fashion. He allows himself some other indulgences as well; he takes great care in shaving his face smooth, in applying fragrant oils to his hair and body, in drawing cat-like eyes on his lids with unerring precision.

Then late one night, after the greater than great God’s Wife of Amun goes to bed and his vital fan-waving abilities are no longer required, one of the Greek servants approaches him with a hand on his arm as he is heading to the servants’ quarters.

“Hello,” she says warmly, in a heavy accent. “What is your name?”

“Fox,” he answers hesitantly, wondering if this means trouble.

“Mistress Dana wishes to see you in her chambers.”

Fox follows her like a lost pup, at a loss on why on Earth’s name the wealthy lady would want to talk to him.

When he arrives at the Mistress’ lush accommodations, he sees her laid out in the middle of the room, on a huge bed with gold embroidered covers. She has two servants fanning her with palm leaves, and he almost winces in sympathy.

“Mistress Dana, this is Fox,” the girl tells her.

“All of you are dismissed,” she says in Greek. Or so Fox assumes, because everybody leaves the room at her command.

“You wanted to see me, Mistress?” Fox asks her softly, too nervous to speak up.

“Yes. Come sit with me, please,” she offers, making space for him on her bed.

He walks up to her, taking in the richness of the decorations in this room. Candles glow warmly from sporadic locations, accompanied by the soft light of the full moon streaming through the windows; golden artifices sparkle on every surface, from candelabras to fruit bowls. The four-poster bed has long, sheer drapes the same shade as the Mistress’ hair.

“Fox, I have spoken at length with your benevolent God’s Wife of Amun over dinner, and she has granted me that which I had wished from the day I arrived here.” He looks at her questioningly.

“Would you like to be my personal servant?”

He blinks. It is all he can do to not jump up and down in glee. Or throw himself out the window from anxiety.

“I would very much like to, Mistress Dana,” Fox says, hoping his voice doesn’t waver too much. She smiles at him, making his heart thump wildly in his chest. “May I ask what fueled your decision?”

She shrugs. “You groom yourself very beautifully. I noticed the shine of your hair, the carefulness of your makeup. You seemed much too intelligent to be whipping fans up and down all day.”

He almost passes out with gratitude at finally being so seen; by this fair and wonderful woman, no less. “Thank you so very much, Mistress Dana.”

She shakes her head gently. “Please, just call me Dana.”

“Thank you, Dana,” he whispers. She has freckles sprinkled all over her nose and cheeks. From up close he can see that she is much more mature than he had initially thought, probably some ten or fifteen years older than his twenty. Her eyes are blue, so blue.

She touches a finger to the drawings on his lids, tracing his skin light as a feather, erupting fire in its wake. “The women of Athens are much too demure with the way they paint their faces. They pale their skin with chalk and make themselves sick while doing so. I love the way you Egyptians look. So much more artistic.” She presses a thumb to his red lips. “Especially the men.”

He feels himself hardening and closes his eyes to will the feeling away. It would do him absolutely no good to be disrespectful right now, not when fate had gifted his unhappy little life with so much good fortune.

Taking a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, he opens his eyes to find her staring unblinkingly at him. “Take your belongings from your chambers and bring them back here. There is a bed over there,” she points, but he doesn’t look, “you will sleep here with me and aid me in my day to day tasks.”

“What if…” He trails off, a little shy.

“What?” she prompts, dainty hand cupping his jaw.

“What if I don’t know what to do? I have never been anyone’s personal servant before.” He feels drawn to her shapely face, like a thirsty man to a river.

“Oh, Fox.” She scratches her nails through the itchy stubble birthing on his cheek. _How did she know?_ “You will do more than nicely.”

-x-

Fox soon discovers that Dana is as good a friend as she is benevolent a Mistress. He had never seen her trekking the temple or the city streets, but all she does now is stay in her room with him, just talking. She seems so interested in him. She asks him about his life, his family, the journey that led him where he was now. After so many years of being nothing more than a wallflower, all the attention she bestows upon him is refreshing to say the least.

So he tells her about his family. About the whooping cough that took the life of his mother and sister and, ultimately, his father. How he had fled to Egypt in an act of desperation, seeking opportunity at building a life for himself; but, being an Israelite, having met nothing but disdain and humiliation. He had been only a child of twelve at the time, starving and homeless.

Then, the kind female servants of the temple had taken Fox in and given him clothing, food, clean sheets to sleep on. It was the first time in his life he had ever felt cared for, and it filled him with so much love for these motherly figures. For women and their caring hearts. He can tell Dana likes the things he says about them. Her wide, comely smile tells him so.

He confides in her about all the boring, tiresome days of meaningless work in the throne room, how he used to slap himself on the thighs so he wouldn’t fall asleep and hit the God’s Wife on her holy face with his fan. She giggles with him secretly and promises not to snitch on him to the Big One. It’s then that he falls for her; deeply, unconditionally.

He combs Dana’s long hair for hours and hours, listening to her voice and answering it with his own. He brings with him the wooden box where he keeps all of his tints, oils and pencils. His fingers paint her soft skin with shimmery greens, blacks and reds, darkening her features to make her face match the fierceness of her soul.

“Where do you get all of these beautiful colors? They seem expensive,” she muses one time, while sifting through all of his makeup.

“I save every coin I ever get and go buy them at the central market, the big one down the street from the temple. They have so many shades of red and green, my eyes bug out whenever I go there.” They both laugh. “But I can never buy much of anything, so I don’t use them up too much; I usually just go with the kohl because it’s easier to get.”

“Hmm,” is all she answers. The next morning, two of the Greek girls bring into their room a huge crate filled with every single color of powder he had ever seen on his trips to the markets, and some he hadn’t even realized existed. Along with them, all fragrances of oils and incenses to perfume their room and their bodies. He looks at Dana sprawled across her bed with tears in his eyes. She smiles sleepily at him and says, “Come on, Fox, let’s paint. I want to try them all out.”

Every day she asks him to paint her, even though they never leave their room to see anybody. And every time he mixes dark powder with grease and paints Dana’s thick lips with his fingers, his loins stir with yearning for her. Her pink mouth turns into brooding shades of purple, maroon, even pure black once. Her warm breath quickens when he leans his face close in concentration, and if she notices the urgent tenting of his slacks, she never acknowledges it.

-x-

One night, after a few glasses of grape wine, they lay in bed together, facing each other. They had been talking all evening, but only Dana had been asking the questions, as it was the norm between them. Feeling buzzy and emboldened from the drink, Fox asks her, “How come you know so much about me and my life, but I do not know a single thing about you?”

She turns her face into her pillow, squinting at him with only one eye. “You know things about me.”

“Only how you like your hair done, and how rare you want your meat. Nothing about your life, the customs of Athens, or tales of your riveting travels,” he smiles, encouraging her.

But she doesn’t seem very willing to share much, becoming uncharacteristically sheepish under his questioning. She roams her eyes over his face, deep in thought; the long silence makes him a little nervous, and just as he is beginning to regret his decision of poking around her personal life, she asks him all of a sudden, “Fox, will you assist in bathing me?”

That catches him off guard. Usually her maids will take up on that job, leading her to the bathhouse while he fixes supper for the both of them. He has never seen her undressed before. The rich fabrics she wraps herself in are enough to make him weak in the knees; he has no idea how he will react seeing her nude body right in front of him. And bathing her. Gods help him.

“I—yes, yes I will,” he stammers, avoiding eye contact.

Dana tips his face up and meets his eyes. “Listen, Fox. You have become a very dear friend to me, and I trust you with all of my heart. You do not need to be shy around me. I want you to do this.” He nods softly. “And you want to know about my life. Bathe me, and I will tell you everything you want to know.”

They head to the deserted bathhouse, Fox’s chest humming in anticipation. He has no idea where this is going, though his uneasiness is somewhat comforted by the fact that Dana considers him her good friend. This mixture of fear and giddiness is a very strange feeling, but one he has become accustomed to since the wondrous Dana of Athens came into his life, flipping it upside down and inside out.

Fox turns his back to her to give her some semblance of privacy while she undresses; more for his own benefit than hers. He fills up a large basin with a few buckets of water while waiting for stones to heat up over the fire, so that he can place them inside the tub and warm it up to the perfect temperature. He turns back around to see Dana wrapped in what looks like a huge towel but only seems that way because her body is so incredibly tiny. He smiles despite himself. She is becoming more adorable to him every day.

Dana has in her hands a few oils that she brought along with her. She drops little fragrant splashes into the rapidly heating water; its rising steam wafting up the heavenly smells that cling to the bathroom walls and to their bodies.

Then she turns to him with an apprehensive look in her face. She has never looked so shy in all the time he has known her, and for a moment Fox wonders if his perpetual jitters have rubbed off on her usually bold persona. But then she drops the towel with her eyes cast down, and he can’t help but gasp in shock.

Her whole torso and legs are covered in terrifyingly fresh scars that look like the result of flogging; they mar and distort her perfect skin like ripples on a bloody pond. When she turns to step inside the tub, he sees that her back is in even worse of a state, the milky tissue of her perfect body barely visible beneath all the scar tissue. He has never seen visible proof of torture quite like this; that his Dana, his kind and compassionate Dana should have undergone such torment, it saddens him immensely.

“Fox, grab that rag and rub my back with it. Gently, please.”

With tears rolling down his cheeks, he does as he is ordered. He feels in his heart a strong urge to kiss all of her body, to heal her scars with his lips and his love, to send all of her pain away.

Then she begins her story. “My father was a traveling salesman in Greece. He sold spices and fabrics, and was one of the richest and most influential men in Athens. Many years ago, when I was much younger than you are now, he found fit to marry me to one of his dearest friends, an architect by the name of Andreas. All of his hair was already gray, but I had not yet had my blood. You can imagine we were not very compatible.

“Andreas obviously found me very pretty, but was not happy with the fact that I was late to bloom into a lady. Like you, I had been a very sick child and, perhaps, that was the reason why it took me so long. We slept in separate rooms, and every morning when I woke up he had the maidens check my sheets for blood stains. He was not a loving husband; his only interest was in the fortunes held by my father. He ignored me on a good day, and beat me silly on a bad one. I dreaded the day when I would finally become a lady, for that day I was sure I would experience the worst type of violence a man can do unto a woman.”

A fat teardrop falls from his chin onto Dana’s shoulder. She turns her head to Fox and he could see that she was crying too. She brings both of her hands to his face and rubs soothing circles on his cheeks, replacing his tears with perfumed water. Then she turns her back to him again so he can keep washing her body.

“To keep that anguish out of my mind, every day I went to my father’s library and spent all of my time there, reading on the works of Plato, Homer, Sappho and Aristophanes. I read of the Egyptians and their wonderful feats of architecture; I read of the Israelites,” she says with affection, grasping his hand gently behind her, “and how they were very cunning merchants.

“Acquiring knowledge was not becoming for a woman in Athens, so I lied about it all to Andreas, for I was sure that, if he were to know that I had been educating myself, he would surely lay a beating upon me fiercer than any Spartan warrior’s. I told him instead that I wanted to spend my days with my mother, learning with her about how to become the perfect wife for my beloved Andreas.

“But love him I did not. And he most certainly didn’t love me, either. He hated me, as he hated all women; he never spoke a good word of his deceased mother, and yanked on the hairs of the female servants for no reason. He was a sadistic man, making all of our lives miserable with his violent whims.

“I bonded with those poor women over our mutual suffering. They all became darling friends to me, especially a dark-haired girl named Febe. She offered to conceal the evidence of my blood, when the time came for me to shed it. But I refused; I figured that lying about it would only cause all of us more trouble.”

“That was very brave of you, Dana,” Fox whispers. “I cannot imagine going through something like that.”

“I had no choice but to be brave. It felt way less heroic than it sounds right now to you, I’m sure,” she grins, but the look quickly falls from her face. “A few days after my seventeenth birthday,” she continues somberly, “I woke up to a soaked bed. My legs, my buttocks, my sheets, were all soiled with blood. It felt like a curse. I looked upon the heavens then, and wished for anything, anything else other than being a woman. Being a dung beetle would have been preferable to me at the time, I was so desperate.

“That very night, Andreas took me in his bed. Five years of marriage, and I had never even been to his bedroom. It was a painful, but thankfully quick affair. He seemed to take absolutely no pleasure in it; I assumed it was just a chore for him, so that he could plant his rotten seed inside my womb and have the baby boy he wanted so much. I had my eyes closed the whole time; thinking of grass fields, sunny skies, trying to distance myself from my own body in any way I could.

“When I came back to my own bedroom, my friend Febe was sitting on my bed, anxiously awaiting my arrival. She hugged me tight, kissed my face, and bathed me in hot water for hours. We were silent the whole time. Then she lied with me and let me rest my head on her breast. I never shed a tear.”

Fox marvels in the bravery of this woman. He has absolutely no doubt she is the most courageous person he has ever met in his life, and, despite her heartbreaking life story, he feels himself being lifted up, inspired by her strength.

Dana smiles like she can read all the turbulent feelings undoubtedly showing on his face. “She looked a lot like you, Fox. Glossy hair, beautiful eyes the color of olives, sun-kissed skin. She was older than me, and, better than anyone, taught me about the challenges of being a woman in Athenian society. I’m afraid I was a bit of a recluse, and did not leave the house to be ‘social’ much—the very idea repelled me. I much preferred the company of my books, where I could meet interesting characters, learn new languages, travel to worlds outside my own. I started taking Febe with me everywhere I went, which, at that point, were only my father’s library and the orchard in the back grounds of Andreas’ property.

“Andreas was usually out working all day, and my father was a traveling salesman, like I told you before. So me and Febe, we had each others’ company for every waking hour; and, at night, after Andreas would take my body and do as he pleased with it, it was Febe who cleansed me of his disgusting essence, who treated my wounds and showed me the love I never knew I could receive in my life.”

 _I love you_ , Fox thinks passionately _. I_ _love you, I love you, I love you._

He can see Dana pondering her next words carefully, as if not wanting to shock him. But nothing she could ever say would make him think any less of her. “For so long, Febe and I were inseparable. Everything we did, we did together; I taught her to read, and she taught me to cook. We slept wrapped in each others’ arms every night. Slowly, I came to realize that the infatuation I harbored for Febe was not at all different from a lover’s. Then one night, lying in bed with her, I kissed her on the lips.”

Dana pauses, looking at him timidly. Fox is not at all shocked. The practice isn’t uncommon between women in Egypt, and that Dana should be in love with Febe seems as natural and inevitable to him as thunder and lightning. He feels grateful that his Dana had such a wonderful person in her life to gift her with all the love he knows she deserves. In this moment, Fox loves Febe as well.

He smiles at her, nodding in encouragement. She smiles back sadly, and he knows that the worst part of her story is soon to come. “She kissed me back, Fox. She told me, ‘I’ve wanted to do this for years.’ And I never felt ashamed; Greek custom considered the act to be so profane, but all I could feel was the friendship, the adoration we had for each other. I felt so exhilarated then, so happy, so free. We loved each other all night long. I got to explore her gorgeous body, and she explored mine. That night was so beautiful, Fox. She was so beautiful. When I made her gasp my name, all I could think about was how I could manage to whisk her away to a deserted island somewhere and make her my bride,” she laughed.

“When I awoke the next day, Febe was not in bed with me. I was so elated, I wanted to stay with her all day in my bedroom and keep laughing and kissing her until we ran out of breath. So I took off to look for her around the house. But everywhere I went, the male servants all stared at me with disgust, and the women were too afraid to even look. Dread started to course through my body like poison. I instantly knew they all found out what we had done.”

Dana takes a deep breath and submerges herself under the water. Her hair floats around her face like algae in seawater. He swirls his fingers through her locks, trying to come to terms with everything she is telling him.

She stays like that for a long time, rising up with a long, shuddering breath. Fox pushes her hair out of her face gently, caressing her cheeks perhaps a bit more than necessary. She squeezes his hand and rises out of the tub. With water rivulets sliding down her scarred body, she looks like a warrior goddess. He is convinced that, in another life, she probably was one; she is one in this life, too.

Dana sits silently on the side of the tub, letting Fox pat her body dry, treating every scar with care; delaying the inevitable tale of how they came to be. He then lays the towel on her lap and sits himself in front of her. He cups her cheek, bracing himself for what he is about to hear. She puts a hand on top of his. “Andreas’ bedroom was the last place left in my search, and I started crying before I even got there. When I opened the doors, the sight in front of me…” Dana bows her head, sobbing weakly.

“My beloved Febe was dead in a pool of her own blood. She had slash marks all over her body, just like the ones you see on mine. Andreas stood beside her, with a whip held in his fist.”

Fox hugs her tightly to his chest, forgetting all about decency, disrespect, or any stupid boundary put upon the two of them. He lets her weep her grief away, kissing her head and wondering, how could any God, Greek or Egyptian or otherwise, in their right mind let cruelty like that happen to anyone?

“Dana… oh, Dana…” he breathes, overcome with sadness. She breaks apart from him, sniffling lightly and regaining the confident posture that is so undeniably, unmistakably _her_ —along with a different, somber spark in her red-rimmed eyes.

“At that moment, I fell to my knees. I was ready to die. I knew, then, that I could never be happy again. Andreas moved behind me and struck the first crack onto my back with his whip. He started shouting at me; _what_ he was saying, however, I could not tell you. I never heard a word over the sound of the flogging and my own restless mind. All I could think about was my Febe, and how badly I wanted to join her.

“This went on for hours, probably. In the end, I could not feel anything; only my body succumbing to death, my heart slowing, my breaths getting shallower. I felt grateful for one thing, at least: that all my suffering in this Earth was going to be over, at last.

“Then, I woke up in a puddle of blood identical to my friend’s. It was deep into the night, and Andreas’ room was deserted—he probably left me for dead once I passed out. With every drop of strength I could find in me, I lifted myself up onto my knees. Laying one last kiss on Febe’s lips, I grabbed the dagger I knew Andreas kept on his desk. My whole body caked with dried blood, I must have looked like a hellish apparition, out of the depths of Hades’ realm. I felt like it too; like I had risen from the dead to rain revenge onto my aggressor.”

Fox shivers at the rage boiling in her tone, his imagination picturing with bright colors the scene she describes. “Slowly, I walked around the dark house, looking for Andreas, leaving red footprints with every painful step. The anger inside me felt like balm to my wounds, soothing the pain and filling me with purpose.

“Like an omen from the Gods, I was certain of where he would be. I walked inside my bedroom, where I had had the best night of my life just hours before. All the vases and their beautiful flowers were shattered on the floor. The furniture snapped into pieces, books I had inside my desk ripped apart and strewn everywhere. In my bed, I found Andreas—passed out with an empty bottle of wine in his hand.”

Fox sees himself in her place, the image so bright in his mind’s eye he can feel his own fury joining hers in the vapors of miasma between them. He laces their hands tightly.

Dana grins humorlessly. “First, with one swift movement, I cut off his cock and balls.” Fox gapes, speechless, tightening even more the grip on her hands. Her grin widens. “I had stuffed his mouth with the sheets so no one could hear him scream. He was so blinded by his pain and sluggish with drunkenness, he couldn’t even move to stop me. I had never felt so powerful in my life. Then, I took each of his flailing arms and cut a gash down from the inside of his elbows to his wrists. His eyes never blinked once. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to watch what I could do to him.

“I watched him bleed to death, gagging on the sheets. Then, in the most cathartic moment of my life, I slowly put the blade to his throat, enjoying how his eyes almost jumped out of his skull. I cut his throat from ear to ear; I gathered all the gushing blood in my hands and smeared it across his face, marking him with his own filth. He shat and pissed himself all over the bed. He looked so pathetic I began to laugh, and could not stop. The experience was so surreal, Fox, it felt like a dream. It felt like a rite of passage. I found then that it was not my own seeping blood years ago that made me a woman; it was his.”

Fox lets his eyes travel her face, her body, taking in the sight in front of him. He is now sure: Dana of Athens _is_ , in fact, a goddess, risen from her own blood to bestow holy punishment upon unholy men. What an incredible, mighty creature.

 _I love you_ , he thinks.

Dana softens her expression into a sweet smile and brings Fox’s arms up around her neck, embracing him into her valiant breast. She kisses his shoulder, his neck, his face. He feels so blessed.

“Fox, let’s go back to our room, shall we?” she asks, smoothing back his hair. He agrees readily.

-x-

Unconcerned about her nakedness, Dana lies on her stomach on top of her luxurious sheets. Fox grabs a pot of ointment and slowly spreads it across her raised skin. Where there was shock before, now there is admiration. With his hands, Fox caresses the evidence of this woman’s toughness. He lets his fingers trace each bump, each gash; from her shoulders down the slope of her back, across her hips and over her buttocks. Never in his life has he seen a woman more beautiful, more divine.

“What happened after you killed Andreas?” he asks.

“I stayed there, looking down at him for a while. When I turned my back, I nearly shrieked with fright; all the women servants of the house were cowering behind a wall, no doubt absolutely shocked at the state of us. I slowly came to, and realized they could have called the guards to take me to my death. But without a word, one of them—an elderly lady named Agatha—came to me and took my hand. All of them followed me to the bathhouse, where they soaked my body with water and ointments for my wounds. The pain was acute, but the loving look on their faces was more than enough to soothe my spirit. They understood me, Fox. Their kindness, their compassion, felt so validating to me at that moment.”

She turns around then, presenting her front to him. Locking onto his eyes, she pulls him to lie beside her, interlacing their legs together. She grabs his hand, dips it in the balm and lays it on top of her left breast. He hisses in a breath.

“Agatha told me to pack all of my belongings. After bandaging my whole body and covering me with a hooded cloak, she took me and the young servants—the ones who accompany me to this day—to a vault just outside Andreas’ room, through a secret door I had never noticed before. There, were all of his earnings; every gold appliance you see in this room, all the money he had hoarded in his greed, everything, there for the taking. We boxed all of it up and stuffed it in the large carriage Andreas owned. We took all the horses and set off, never to come back again.”

Fox smoothes his hand from her breasts to her hipbones and back up again. He spreads balm all over her thighs, gripping her flesh with intent, spreading her legs and reaching up, up, but not daring to dip into her entrance. Her breathing is labored, her eyes half-lidded. _Goddess_.

“Fox,” she whispers. Pushing on his chest, she climbs atop his lap and kisses him hard on the mouth. Moaning deliriously, he grabs her hips and lets their tongues writhe and battle; he submits to her will. He will submit to her every day of his life if he can.

“Fox,” she says again, and he opens his eyes to find her beautiful face smiling brightly down at him. “I have to tell you this, Fox. I love you. I love you so much, my darling. You are such a beautiful man, in and out; I never thought I would meet such a kindhearted, considerate, friendly man like you. You impress me every day with your respect and your tenderness. I thought I could never be happy again, but now I know I was meant to find you, my Fox.”

All he can do is hug her to him, pressing his lips to her beating heart. “Dana, I have been in love with you for a long time now. Blindly in love. I— I don’t have the words to express how much I admire you, Dana. I can only aspire to be as fierce as you. After you told me your story I knew there would be no one else in my life to ever make me feel like this again.” He kisses her mouth, breathing in her air. “I feel so lucky.”

“Me too,” she whispers.

Her hands tangle in his hair as they kiss for long stretches of time. This night is eternal; only they exist, bathed in candle and moonlight. Her hips dance on top of his, undulating like the mighty Mediterranean. His trembling hands brush softly over her marked skin, the planes of her thin body, so elegant in its imperfections. He grabs flesh where he can, eliciting low moans. They are silent, reverent, only the sound of their heavy breaths stirring the air.

They fumble to rid him of his pants, the only thing between his and her naked bodies. Kneeling above him, she stares his body up and down. He is tight all over, wanting nothing more than to bury himself inside her depths and never, ever leave.

She kisses his chest, rubbing a hand up and down his stomach. “Do you have any idea how pretty you are, Fox?” she whispers against his skin, making him twitch and groan. “So beautiful, my love. Your face, your body, the sounds you make. I was taken with your beauty the moment I first saw you.”

She spits on her tiny hand and wraps it around his hard cock, and his soul leaves his body for a moment. She strokes him slowly, undoubtedly delighting in his desperate squirming; he is so wound up already.

He opens his eyes as much as he can through the ecstasy she is working on him. She uses that moment to place her hips over his, letting his cock slip inside just barely before sliding up again. She is so slick and warm, sheathing him inside her so wonderfully. With every down movement, she takes in more of him, until finally she slides down all the way, making them both moan loudly.

She grinds her hips against his in a circular motion, bracing herself with her hands on his thighs and exposing her body to his eyes. Gods. He can clearly see her tight muscles working under her skin, supple breasts bouncing with her movements. He rises up, embracing her waist and lavishing her nipples with attention; her right breast has a large scar right across it, bisecting her nipple and deforming the underside of her beautiful tit. He sucks on it gently so as to not hurt her, tracing every groove with his tongue, mouthing it hungrily like a calf at its mom.

She curses, bouncing rapidly on his cock. He grips the meat of her ass and helps her along, pushing her down hard and bringing them both closer and closer to orgasm. Pulling his head back from her chest by his hair, she brings their foreheads together, moaning like a benign siren.

His climax punches fire from his groin to his chest, his throat crying out as if disconnected from his mind, a primal reaction to a level of bliss never experienced before. Her delicious cunt flutters around him and soon she is coming as well, whispering his name as if in prayer.

“Dana,” he breathes, kissing her face all over. “Dana, I love you. Please never leave me.”

“I won’t. Not ever, my Fox. You are mine and I am yours, forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> your comments simply make my day. if you liked any of this, tell me all about it!!! <3


End file.
